


A Sort of Homecoming

by littleotter73



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleotter73/pseuds/littleotter73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles attends his father's funeral and lays his past to rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sort of Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post Series  
> Word Count: 5,660  
> Beta: catchoo152  
> Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing in the Buffyverse and I make no profit from playing in Joss' sandbox.  
> A/N: This story grew from a plot bunny my dear friend il_mio_capitano had shared with me. Yes, I stole the bunny, got carried away, and wrote the story. :) I tried to ignore the bunny, but it wouldn't be denied.

 

 

 

 

 

A Sort of Homecoming

 

_The little boy sat patiently thumbing through his book at the prep table in the kitchen waiting for his mother to finish up her morning work in the family’s apartments. He knew that when she was done, she would join him for lunch before heading back up to continue the rest of her work for the day. Stopping at a particularly good page, he studied the picture in his book before setting about to read the passage that went with it._

_"Hello, Rupert, what do you have there?" Sir Edward Giles greeted with a smile as he strolled into the room. The boy raised his eyes and lifted up his book about fighter planes. "Can you read?" the man continued as he sat down beside him._

_Rupert nodded. "S-some words are harder th-than others, sir."_

_The man looked pleased and asked the boy to read aloud the two sentences on the page he had been studying. Rupert complied and continued to read a few sentences further, losing himself in the words. How he loved words and how they could be combined to create new stories or tell him how things worked or even let him escape to far off lands!_

_"Well done, my boy!" the man praised, his rich voice causing pride to swell in Rupert’s chest. "Which is your favorite?"_

_"That's easy, sir. The Spitfire."_

_"I'll tell you a secret,” he grinned and leaned over to speak in a stage whisper, “it's mine too."_

_Rupert smiled up at the man. He worshipped him. He didn’t have a father of his own to indulge in his more male oriented interests with (his mother was very enthusiastic, but she didn’t know a Hurricane from a Lancaster), and Sir Edward was like a hero from Camelot, a noble knight with his dark blond hair, who rode horses and had swords just like in some of the books Rupert read with his mother._

_"I have a secret too. Don't tell Mummy, but I am going to be a fighter pilot when I grow up. I know everything about the Spitfire," the boy boasted. “I just need to grow taller.”_

_"Well, we'll make sure it happens then, Rupert, won't we?" Sir Edward laughed. He scanned the kitchen and when he’d made sure they were alone, he reached his hand into the pocket of his tweed jacket and rustled around in it. Pulling out a sack of hard candies, the man’s blue eyes sparkled with conspiracy and the slight laugh lines around them crinkled with kindness as his smile widened. "Don't tell anyone, but I've brought you some sweets. You'd like some sweets, wouldn't you, Rupert?"_

_The boy smiled in delight, but he dared not take the bag from the lord of the manor. The man had always been kind, but he'd only talk to him in the kitchens or when he played out in the gardens. Rupert had once made the mistake of running up to Sir Edward one afternoon when he was out walking with Lady Helena and their children. The man had been firm and had told him to run along, but the lady and the children had been cruel. The son had pushed him while the daughter had laughed, and Rupert had run along back to the servants' hall where his mother and the rest of the staff regularly gathered, embarrassed and in tears. No, he’d learned that it was best to let the man call the shots._

_But Sir Edward would often visit below stairs, as his mother had called it, to inspect the kitchen apartments and to consult with the butler, his valet, and the cook, and when he did, he always took a moment to play with Rupert and the other servants' children if they were around._

_"Take some, Rupert," his friend encouraged, thrusting the sack full of sweets towards the boy._

_Rupert took four sweets and quickly shoved the red one into his mouth. Everyone knew the red ones were the best! He raised his eyes to the man and smiled back. "Th-thank you, s-sir," he stuttered around the sugared confection in his mouth._

_Sir Edward rose from the table and ruffled the boy's dark brown hair with his hand before walking over to the countertop and grabbing an apple out of a bowl of mixed fruit. Rupert watched him bite into the apple and wink at him as he walked back up the stairs. Returning to his book, the boy slowly unclenched his sticky little fist and dropped the remaining three sweets onto the table._

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

The rain beat hard on his umbrella and Giles shivered in the cold as he watched the six men carry the casket to its final resting place. As per Council tradition, it was empty, the body having been cremated to ensure a Watcher would never rise, even if the death had been of natural causes. It didn’t surprise him that the remaining Watchers had turned out in droves to bury one of their own. Edward Giles had been a respected force within the upper echelons of the organization. 

It was odd. He had no place here and he watched on with grief and anger, wishing he could lay to rest the guilt and the awkwardness that surrounded his presence at the funeral. He glanced over the crowd to where Lady Helena stood beside the grave. He should be there, or be one of the pallbearers at the very least, but it wasn't his place to argue and he deferred to the wishes of his father's wife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

_"I don't understand, Edward," his mother had said, wringing her hands as she stood in front of the small fireplace in the lounge of their cottage._

_"It's a calling, Mary, and Rupert was chosen. One day he'll be the Watcher to the Slayer. It has been foreseen."_

_"He's not yet ten-years-old."_

_Sir Edward shoved his hands deep into his pockets and ducked his head in sympathy. "He has a destiny and he must fulfill it."_

_Rupert watched the scene unfold before him from his perch on the stairs. He was supposed to be in bed, but he'd heard his friend rap on the door late that evening and the voices below disturbed his attempt at sleep._

_His mother raised her head to look at the man sitting before her on the settee. "How could you do this to him... to me?"_

_"Watchers are bred, Mary, it runs in families. It runs in mine. I am a Watcher. My children will be Watchers, though they weren't chosen for a Slayer. And, uh, Rupert, well, he's mine too and it seems fate has bestowed a great honor upon him."_

_Rupert tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Sir Edward was his father? He looked on, needing to know more. The man stood and placed his arms around his mother, his voice softened._

_"I've always had a soft spot for the boy. I'll look after him, make sure he's ready for his role when the time comes, raise him in the house, and I'll make sure he has my name."_

_His mother stiffened and pushed him away. "He's_ _my_ _son! You can't just take him away."_

_"And he's a Giles too, Mary. One who now must be acknowledged and prepared for the great responsibility that awaits him,” he explained, running his left hand through his wavy blond hair. When his blue eyes met her distressed pale green ones he whispered, “I’m very sorry."_

_"What will your wife say?"_

_"There is nothing she can say. She won't like it. Neither will the children, but it is an adjustment they will have to make."_

_“You’ll make sure he visits me? That we can take our lunches together in the kitchen?” his mother asked, trying to suppress her emotions._

_“I promise.”_

_"When will you tell him?"_

_"Tomorrow, on his birthday. Make sure his things are packed."_

_Rupert took a deep breath. His mother started to weep and his father pulled her into his arms again, shushing her. Anger rose within him like bile and he turned from the stairs and skulked back into his bedroom. He was not going to live in the big house. He was not going to leave his mother. It didn't matter if his father was the King of England. It wasn't going to happen._

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

Wrestling himself from his thoughts, Giles looked on, numb from the emotions that surged through his body. The Anglican bishop approached his father’s wife, who stood proud and regal despite her advanced years, and extended his hand in sympathy while her maid held the umbrella aloft behind her in a futile attempt to hold the rain at bay.

Bloody miserable weather.

As the bishop made his way over to his spot to begin the ceremony, Lady Helena caught Giles staring at her. She met his gaze straight on, her eyes cold and hollow. He looked away and curled his shoulders inward. The burial was about to begin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

_"You can't be serious, Edward?"_

_"Tell me what I am supposed to do, Helena."_

_"I understand he needs to be trained and that he has to live in our house for that, but he's a bastard, and I'll not have him treated as one of my own."_

_They'd forgotten that Rupert was sitting in the library with them as they argued about his position in the house. He'd found a book on one of the shelves while they waited for his father’s wife to join them and had quietly climbed into one of the leather wingback chairs in the far corner to read his new treasure._

_"He's my son and he's been chosen. He needs our support and we need to guide him. He can't grow up the son of a housemaid and expect to survive out there, much less train and guard his Slayer."_

_"I forbid you to give him your name," Lady Helena huffed, standing tall and holding her ground. She was a formidable woman at above average height, her long wavy brown hair pulled back and her hazel eyes alight with fury._

_"Helena," Edward Giles entreated. "You know I have to. He needs a Watcher's name."_

_"I thought I could do this, Edward. When you came to me yesterday and told me about him. But he looks so much like her. I can't..."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"When you acknowledge him, you will be the laughing stock of the Council and I will not abide the feigned looks of sympathy or the gossip."_

_"It's not like this is the first time a Watcher has had an illegitimate child."_

_"No, but it's the first time a_ _bastard_ _has been chosen."_

" _Please don't call him that." His father's voice was low and apologetic. He paused and looked out into the gardens before saying, "I don't pretend to understand it. It's only supposed to run in Watcher families, but no one really knows how a Watcher is chosen. All I know is that the seers identified Rupert and we must do our duty to raise him and train him."_

_Helena Giles crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, but I want his mother gone by tomorrow. If he is to be a Giles, he cannot cavort with the likes of the servant class and she will prove a liability to his success."_

_Rupert could bear no more. He stood and rushed to his father, yelling, "No!", tears escaping his eyes for the first time since he'd secretly learned of his destiny the night before._

_Edward Giles caught his son as he rushed him, allowing the boy to pound his fists against his chest in anger and frustration before wrapping his arms around him, holding him close, and apologizing to him. Lifting his eyes to his wife, he sent her a reproachful glare. She swept up her skirts and turned to leave the room._

_"Helena," Edward ground out, running his hand through his son’s tussled hair. "There is nothing between his mother and me. There hasn't been since before the lad was born. She stays."_

_She stopped, but refused to turn around. Rupert’s quiet sobs stood between the adults in the room for long moments before she advised with a hiss, “Find your own bed to sleep in, Edward darling.”_

_In the end, Rupert's mother had stayed on at the house for a few weeks before taking a position with his father’s mother some twenty miles away, far enough where she couldn't be a distraction for him, as her ladyship had pointed out the day his mother left._

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

The bishop droned on and a gloved hand squeezed Giles' bicep beneath his black wool coat. The Watcher looked down at his Slayer, her green eyes staring up at him wide with concern.

"This isn't right, Giles, you should be up there," Buffy whispered, her body trembling against the wet winter chill.

The Watcher shifted and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. They'd only moved to England in the last month after having sorted the issues that arose from the aftermath of the battle with the First Evil, and Buffy hadn't yet had time to acclimate to the change in climate. He told himself he was providing her with much needed warmth, but the truth was that he needed her strength to get through this.

"It's best this way, Buffy. She's grieving."

"So are you. He was your father. You shouldn't be relegated to the colleagues section, Giles."

Giles turned his gaze skyward. Would the rain just stop, just for a little while? "Leave it be, Buffy, please. She lost both her children and her grandchildren in the explosion at the Council buildings. She has nothing left. She can have this."

"Would your father have wanted it this way?"

"Doesn't matter," Giles shrugged. "He's dead."

The bishop started the ceremony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

_"Mother!" Rupert cried out as he ran from the car towards the house._

_"Rupert!" His father called after him. "Rupert! You will enter the house through the front door!"_

_Sod tradition, he thought as he ran around the back until he reached the kitchen door. It was faster and he navigated the corridors at a fast clip, bounding up the stairs to reach his mother's room._

_He was fourteen and his father had retrieved him unexpectedly from boarding school to bring him to his mother. Pushing his way past the nurse and the doctor and a few of the servants who were on hand to help, he reached his mother's bed, where she lay unconscious, pale, and struggling for breath._

_Taking her hand in his, Rupert wiped her damp hair away from her forehead. "Mum, I'm here now," he whispered in earnest, hoping for a response. Turning his head, he searched the faces surrounding him until he met the doctor's, his pale green eyes growing dark with anger. "Why is she not in hospital?" he demanded._

_The nurse next to him put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off._

_The doctor shook his head, his hazel eyes sympathetic. "Because she is more comfortable here, lad. I am sorry, there's nothing more to be done."_

_Rupert bit his lip and saw his father and grandmother come to the door of his mother's room, their faces grave. He gazed back at his mother. "How long?" he asked in defeat as his shoulders slumped._

_"A day, two at most," the doctor replied._

_"May I please have a few moments with her alone?" Rupert requested, biting back the sob that rose in his throat._

_He was fairly certain the doctor had answered him, but it didn't matter, the room cleared out and Rupert sat with his mother, holding vigil with his grandmother and father looking on. Over four days he kept by his mother's bedside, tending to her. She gained consciousness a few times, but she was too weak to speak with him. Instead, he filled the days telling stories about anything and everything. It really didn't matter, he just wanted to make up for all the time they'd spent apart. He'd gained hope that perhaps she might recover. Two days had turned into four and she'd seemed to rally._

_Mary Thompson died on the fifth day and they buried her on the sixth in the village church cemetery near his grandmother's property. Rupert bravely watched as the coffin was lowered into the grave, his father standing slightly behind him with his strong hand on his son’s shoulder in support. He refused to cry. He’d done enough of that over the last two days since she’d passed. At the end of the ceremony he picked up the soil from the ground and watched it run through his fingers onto the coffin below._

_‘And to the dust we shall return.’_

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

He was truly an orphan now.

Giles walked to his father's grave, the crowd long gone and on their way to the house for the wake. Buffy kept watch over him from a distance beneath the oversized umbrella. The rain poured over him as he sank to one knee in the sodden grass, the cold water soaking through his trousers. He pulled a small box from his coat pocket and opened it. It was a small silver tie pin in the shape of a Spitfire. His father had bought it for him the day he entered the Academy, a small token of understanding.

After he gently tossed the box with the Spitfire onto the casket, Giles picked up a handful of the waterlogged soil surrounding the grave site and crumpled it over the smooth wooden surface. Keeping his hand fisted, he brought it up to his forehead and closed his eyes against the well of emotions threatening to spill over as tears. When he felt strong enough to continue, Giles unclenched his fist, the dirt staining his palm black.

"Thank you, Father. I am sorry for all my cock ups. I wish I had done better... for you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

_"I am fighting for you, Rupert, but this is a highly delicate matter!"_

_Rupert sat shivering in the leather wingback. Withdrawal was a bitch. "Y-yes, sir."_

_"If it weren't for your destiny, you'd be thrown out of the Council on your backside!"_

_Rupert winced. His father's deep blue eyes were angry, the wrinkles around his eyes set and highlighting his displeasure, but Rupert could see they still held a little warmth and he felt some relief knowing that he wasn't being disowned._

_"Edmund is to keep an eye out for you upon your return to Oxford. Caroline will run interference at the Council, but you keep your nose clean, you hear me, boy?"_

_"Yes, s-sir!" His half-siblings were a decent sort and they'd learned to get along over the years, but it stuck in Rupert's craw that he now needed minders._

_Edward Giles pulled his spectacles from his face. Rupert couldn’t remember ever seeing his father with glasses before and took a moment to study him. The blond hair was now streaked with grey and the hair around his temples had turned white. There were the beginnings of bags under his eyes as well. When had his father aged so?_

_"Bloody awful mess, you've gotten yourself into! It took everything to keep it out of the sodding papers! You're a Giles, boy! And that poor Randall chap. What were you thinking?"_

_Shifting in his seat, Giles faced his father and crossed his arms to minimize the effects of the withdrawal. "He'd been possessed, father, I-I tried exorcising the demon, but I wasn't strong enough."_

_"Possessed by a demon you and your so called friends had no business conjuring!" Edward Giles yelled, his temper in a flare. Rupert recoiled in his seat. Taking notice of his son's discomfort, Edward took a deep breath and sat down heavily in the chair opposite. "I suppose it's my fault. I had seen that you possessed magickal abilities, watched you experiment, but I did nothing to guide you. Nor did I hear your pleas for help when you were drowning in your studies at Oxford."_

_"I-I'm sorry, father."_

_"Yes, well, stay out of your stepmother's way and don't come down for dinner. I'll have something sent up for you. You look a right state."_

_"Y-yes, sir." Rupert stood to head to his bedroom, shoving his shaking hands deep into his pockets._

_"And, Rupert."_

_"Sir?"_

_His father gave him a small smile. "It's good to have you home."_

_"Th-thank you." Rupert turned with a tremendous feeling of relief and left the room._

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

The hall was crowded. Servants strolled around with trays of food. Giles had left Buffy with a group of admiring Watchers and stood in a corner near the foyer with a glass of scotch in his left hand.

"Always looking for the bolt hole." The voice grated along his spine, and he stood taller.

"I, uh, am very sorry for your loss," he said, dropping his eyes to floor, not wishing to engage his father's wife in their decades old battle.

"Stuff it, Rupert. We're the only ones left. The pawns in this cruel game called life."

"Y-yes, well..." He lifted his eyes and regarded her. Her hair had turned a beautiful shade of white and she wore it in an up-do. She’d aged well, her skin still taught and she’d kept her beauty over the years. She stood proud and regal, just as she always had, befitting her stature as the lady of the house.

Helena Giles eyed the small amount of liquid in his glass and signaled to one of her serving staff. "Another scotch for my _stepson_ , please, William, thank you." Turning her attention back to Giles she said, "Have you finally stopped running?"

"I am at peace," Giles responded, finishing off the amber liquid and letting the warmth slowly make its way to his belly. He still felt the chill of the wind and the rain, his clothes not yet dry from his visit to the grave to say farewell to his father. "Grief stricken, but at peace." He searched the room for his Slayer and found her engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman. "Our duty's changed and we've retired from the fight. There’s relief enough in that."

She sighed. "You should've been up there with me today. I am sorry for that."

"Thank you, Lady Helena," he answered with sincerity.

"It's Helena, and I stopped referring to you as 'that boy' years ago, we should drop the formalities."

The servant brought him a new tumbler of scotch and Giles exchanged his empty one for it gratefully as he thanked the young man.

"You are staying for the reading of the will?" It was more of a statement than a question.

The corners of his mouth twitched nervously. "I can't imagine why I'd need to be there."

Helena's features softened and she put her hand on his forearm. "You are his son."

" _Bastard_ son," Giles corrected.

"Son nonetheless, and you seem to be all I have left of him."

"I'll be there."

She gave an imperceptible nod and changed the subject, "Your Slayer seems to be holding court."

Giles settled his gaze on Buffy who now relayed war stories from the Hellmouth to a gaggle of spellbound male Watchers both young and old. He gave a little smile, "She's Slayer royalty."

"How old is she now?"

"Twenty-three."

"Oldest living Slayer on record, congratulations," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "Now I must see to the guests. I will see you in an hour in the library."

Raising his glass in salute, Giles watched his stepmother engage a mourner in conversation. She was the consummate hostess, always had been. Behind the closed doors life may have seemed as thought it was falling apart at times, but no outsider would have ever guessed. It was her way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

_"She's been found, Rupert!"_

_The voice over the line was loud and excited and made his head spin. Giles rolled to his side, trying not to wake his companion. The clock on his nightstand read three sixteen in the morning._

_"Bloody hell, father! Only the undead are up at this time of night," he complained rubbing his left hand over his face in an effort to wake up. "Who’s been found?"_

_"Your Slayer!"_

_Rupert had given up, assumed that his chosen status had been a mockery, a cosmic joke. All chosen Watchers had come from families whose fathers and mothers had both come from Watcher stock. The histories had shown it. Bastards never entered into the equation. Why should he be any different? Why should he be the first?_

_"What?"_

_"Merrick has found her and just in the nick of time, too. The master vampire Lothos has designs on her, but Merrick has stepped in to begin her training and watch over her."_

_A sense of fear gripped Rupert as he rose from his bed and began to pace, his usual strides severely minimized by the length of the telephone cord. Olivia shifted in his bed but did not wake._

_"It will take a month to get your affairs in order and for the Council to arrange for your cover. This whole business is highly irregular. Merrick is the best we have, son, a true warrior. He will make sure your Slayer is safe,” the senior Watcher reassured him._

_"But Lothos!" Rupert tried to keep his panicked voice low and calm as to not wake his lover, but he had a Slayer now and she was in severe trouble. Every Watcher knew how dangerous Lothos was._

_Hearing the trepidation in his son’s voice, Edward tried again, "The report from Merrick is that she is headstrong and requires his experience in order to beat the devil. She's not quick to trust and it is crucial she take his direction. Let him pave the way and we'll get you to California as soon as we can. She will bond with you soon enough and you can take your place by her side."_

_"Yes, father,” he conceded. “But I'll reach out to him and aid them any way that I can."_

_"Good!" Edward Giles stated, his voice pleased. "And, Rupert, her name is Buffy Summers. Good luck, son."_

_His father rang off and Rupert's mind raced. He was too hyped up to go back to bed. Pacing the length of his small bedroom, unimpeded by the telephone chord, he gazed down at the lovely young woman sleeping soundly without a care in the world. He'd tell her their affair was over after breakfast. Buffy was all that mattered now._ _Buffy_ _. He mulled the name over and shook his head. Absurd._

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

"As you know, Mr Giles, you are not eligible to inherit either the lands or the title. Rather unfortunate business as there is no direct heir. My firm has been in the process of searching for an heir since the explosion, but we are confident one will be found soon."

Giles wanted to reach across the table and throttle the inconsiderate solicitor. It was much too soon to have this discussion. All his life he'd been reminded how this privileged life wasn't really his, he didn't need some officious prat telling him what he already knew. He'd just lost his father and Helena had just lost her husband, and now she would have to leave her home to make room for the new heir. British inheritance rules for the nobility were archaic at best.

"Do go on, and get to the point, Mr Tate. Her ladyship and I are well familiar with the laws regarding the property," Giles stated with a precision politeness that his father would’ve been proud of.

"Y-yes, sir."

The solicitor droned on about his father's last wishes and which charities and trusts would be funded. After some time they finally got to the matter of the division of personal property, of which Giles inherited some money and all the "special" books in the library plus any others he cared to take. The rest of it went to his father's wife, as expected.

After the solicitor left, Giles walked over to the sideboard and poured himself another finger of his father's twenty-five-year-old scotch. He'd expected the books. His father had always wanted him to have the upper hand when it came to serving his Slayer.

"I shall miss this old house," Helena said, joining him as she poured herself a drink. Giles clinked his glass against hers when she held it up in salute. "It's a shame really, that it can't go to you."

"I rather thought you would want anyone other than me to have it. I'm the bastard, remember?"

She took a sip and savored it. "Such an ugly word."

"I'd always thought so," he replied, staring at the liquid in his glass.

"I spent so many years just seeing your mother when I looked at you. It made me so very angry knowing at one point Edward had chosen her over me..." She broke off. It was an apology without having to say she was sorry.

There was no way to respond, so Giles stood quietly next to his late father's wife, fiddling with the crystal tumbler in his hand.

"But now I look at you and all I can see is Edward. His quiet strength, his patience, his mannerisms, and I know you have a temper lurking in there, Rupert, a slow burn that, when tested, will rage out of you. Your father was like that too. And you both are quick to forgive the ones you love."

Giles drank from his glass. "What are you going to do now, Helena?"

"Move to the townhouse in London. It seems as good a plan as any, it's mine outright, given to me by my parents as a wedding present and I've always loved it there."

Giles smiled at her. She looked so tired and lost. She'd buried her entire family. So had he, now: his mother, and today his father, and Buffy once. But he considered himself extremely fortunate to have been able to visit his father recently. They’d spent the day together talking about everything and nothing, the way fathers and sons do. The elder Giles had been fit right up to the end, though he’d walked with a cane to ease the arthritis pain in his knees. Then a week ago he had gone to bed and not woken up the following morning. It had come as a complete shock to everyone, especially to Giles. It just seemed so surreal and he felt adrift without his stalwart to help keep him grounded.

"What are your plans?"

"I thought I might consult for the Council from time to time should they need my expertise, but I have no fixed plans at the moment.” He shrugged and swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he gathered his thoughts. “Buffy's retired from Slaying and she's more than earned it. I suppose I will follow her lead and take time to enjoy life... perhaps find somewhere quiet to settle down."

Helena set down her drink and walked over to the desk. She pulled out a key from one of the drawers and returned to Giles’ side. She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, but then turned to him and said, "Before your grandmother passed away, she made over her house to me. She didn't want it to fall into the hands of strangers and felt that maybe Caroline would want it. I thought after... after the explosion that I might sell it, but now I want you to have it."

Giles was stunned, "I-I don't know what to say."

"You could always start with 'thank you' but it does seem a bit strange considering our history."

"No, thank you is quite appropriate."

"You made your father very proud, Rupert. There were times he didn't agree with you, and times he was extremely cross with you, but you've proven yourself. You and your Slayer have saved the world time and again. He would agree that this gift is fitting and your grandmother wanted it kept in the family."

"Helena-"

"I'll have the papers drawn up to transfer it to your name. You should have them within the week." She pressed the key into his hand and gave him a little smile, her hazel eyes watery. Before he could answer her, she held up her hand. "Please, I've neglected the guests too long and I can see through the window that people are starting to leave."

"Thank you."

Giles suddenly found himself alone and finished the last of the scotch in his glass.

"Hey," Buffy greeted as she walked into the room with a smile. "I thought you left me here with the tweed brigade. You know, even when they aren't wearing it, I can still smell it. Can you smell a pattern?"

Letting out a small laugh, Giles walked over to her and offered her his elbow. "I'd never leave you in such a perilous situation. It would be ungentlemanly."

After saying their goodbyes to Helena, they left the house and strolled to the car. The rain had stopped and the sun was making attempts to peer through the cloud cover with little success.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, looking up at him.

He nodded. "Yes, I really am. I'll tell you about it later, but first, I want to take you on a drive and show you something."

"Oh, an adventure!" she exclaimed with excitement as they made their way to leave.

"More of a homecoming of sorts," he answered with a small smile as he opened the door to the car for her. When they were both settled, he handed her the key to the house and headed west.


End file.
